The Hungry Games: A Hunger Games Parody
by xxWritingGirlxx
Summary: My take on The Hunger Games. Katpiss Neverclean isn't sure if she'll get picked for the Hungry Games, but she knows if she doesn't, it'll make for a boring story. Rated T for paranoia.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: There are a lot of Hunger Games' parodies out there, but this is my take on it. I hope you find it funny!**

I wake up and don't immediately feel the warmth of my sister, Prim. It's short for Prim and Proper because my dad was all about manners.

I look into my mother's room and am instantly relieved that Prim isn't with her. My mother got all sad when my father died for some reason and basically left us to fend for ourselves. Since the food ain't gonna hunt itself with amazing precision and accuracy, if I do say so myself, I had to raise Prim as my own.

Instead of finding Prim when I get downstairs in our two-story condo, I find the cat, Butter. I know, our living quarters are shockingly primitive, but that's what you get in District 12.

Butter's actual name is "Mangy Yellow-Haired Glutton" because it's a tradition to name everything after what you first see when you get the baby. Or cat. When my mother had me, she had just slipped in a puddle of cat urine. I'm assuming Mr. and Mrs. Malarkey saw pita bread, because Pita is the worst name I've ever heard. Katpiss is way better.

Anyway, the mangy glutton needs food to stay alive for some reason, so I have to feed him too. See, this is why not many people have pets in District 12. We are one of the 12 districts to make up Pan 'Em, a country founded on panning for gold. 12 is the poorest district. All we have are condos here, while the other districts have mansions. We get regular silver utensils, while they get gold-plated sporks. But everything is primitive compared to the Capitol, our evil, oppressive government. It's evil and oppressive.

I look at Butter, who is burying dead bodies. I feed him a stick of butter in thanks. Him burying my victims, practicing cannibalism. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

Then the stench of dead bodies makes me remember. It's Reaping Day! Between all the important stuff like feeding Butter and finding Prim, I clean forgot about my possible impending death.

It's time to hunt, as Grace's specially made alarm reminds me. I'm sort of forgetful. Like sometimes I funnily forget empathy.

As I wander through the streets, I reflect on the Hungry Games, as I'm afraid I'll forget what Reaping Day is all about. Basically, the districts all rebelled against the Capitol because it's oppressive and evil. Needless to say, that didn't go over well… there used to be 1000 districts.

Each district has its own specialty, and ours is the sacred art of tea parties. It's why my dad was so insistent on manners. We make the tea ourselves, which is a struggle. We have to harvest the leaves and dip them in millions of cups of water, then deposit it in tea… pots, they were called? Then we have to assemble all the finer points of the tea party, like those little sandwiches, and make them for the Capitol.

Anyway, in order to make sure the rebellion failed, the Capitol started the Hungry Games. All twelve districts are required to participate, and there's no way out of it. Every district selects two kids to compete in it, and they're called tributes. They used to be called sacrifices, but they changed the name. Something about being more PC.

The Hungry Games are oppressive and evil. Every single tribute is thrown into an arena and are supposed to kill each other and the last one standing wins. Oh, and everyone watches it on TV. Fun times. Yes, that was sarcastic, if you really couldn't tell from that description.

The Reaping is when all the tributes get picked out of the lottery. Effin' Trilogy is the lotto drawer, so to speak. This is on TV too, and people usually take bets on who's going to be picked.

My mom is a huge Reaping Day and Hungry Games fan. In fact, all the adults are. The only people who hate them are the teens. My mom owns a lot of Hungry Games merchandise, such as a nice shirt saying, "My Child Has a Chance of Getting Picked to Die a Horrific Death, and all I get is This Lousy T-shirt!"

But enough about that. Grace is waiting for me at the edge of the woods with my bow and arrow and his collection of guns. I smirk at his inferior choice of weapon.

"Catpee!" he calls. OK, my name is Katpiss, but Grace got it wrong because I whispered it when we first met. He always manages to get the first letter wrong, too. I can't find any way to make fun of his name.

Grace is so dreamy. But he could never be a love interest because we're best friends. Love triangles will never happen in this oppressive, evil world.

Never.

I must hunt now to provide for my family. My father is dead, and my mother is simply too lazy. My father's tragic accident happened a year or two ago. He was a dedicated tea enthusiast, and he sat down to drink some tea 2 days before his retirement. The Capitol took this as an opportunity to dump all the tea over the side of their hovercraft, causing a tea flood. All of the workers got out and ran, except for my dad. He thought they were being rude, and tried to reason with the tea,

"Please divert to the side, my dear, dear tea. I don't like to see you unable to be consumed by people, but I don't particularly want to drown either. If you would kindly move out of my freaking way, I would-" as if by fate, when he was just about to lost his temper and reputation as the most polite man in District 12 (not exactly a hard-earned title in a District people call the "Crack") the tea drowned him. I like to think it was meant to be. It makes me feel better that I secretly poisoned all the tea, which made them have to dump it. I decided it was necessary to help the secret rebellion- er, what rebellion? I hate mockingjays, how about you?

"Catpee!" Grace pulls me out of my thoughts. He hands me my bow and arrows.

"Thanks!" We go through a hole in the electric fence, which is never turned on due to plot convenience. No one ever goes here, not even desperate starving people. They don't want to die from all the dangers beyond the fence. District 12, where you can starve to death in perfect safety, only not really, because it's not safe if people are starving.

One of my more clever sayings.

I shoot at a tree, getting it right in the middle of the branch. Trees are one of the few things that don't move, so I can hit them. Grace pulls out a steak he just killed and hands it to me.

"We'll have a feast," he grins.

"Sounds good!" We split the steak in half and lie down on the dry grass.

"Reaping Day, huh?" I try to make conversation in the sudden awkward silence. Grace groans.

"May the odds be ever in your favor that you manage to either make it out alive with multiple mental health issues or die in some cool way, like famous tributes before you," Grace states the Capitol's way of wishing you luck. I find the motto to be very comforting.

"So what if I get picked?" I ask suddenly. Grace rolls his eyes.

"You knew this was inevitable. As the main character, you're going to be in the Hungry Games. The question is, how will it happen?" Grace muses. I ignore him. He can be a bit… off at times.

"Let's go the square. Wouldn't want to miss the Reaping," I say sarcastically. Grace nods.

We head to the square, anticipating the President's speech. I usually tune it out, but I have a strange feeling I should listen this year. On the way, we spot Mage, the mayor's daughter. She has a gold pin that reads, "THE CAPITOL IS OPPRESSIVE AND EVIL!"

"What could that mean?" I whisper to Grace. He shrugs.

"Can I have your pin, Mage?" I ask. Mage glares at me.

"It's a family heirloom! Why should I give it to y-"

"Thanks Mage!" I rip the pin off her shirt and stick it to mine, and we run off and join everyone else in the square.

Up onstage, President Snow clears his throat.

"We find that oppressing our citizens that make everything we use in the Capitol and putting their children in mortal danger stops rebellion in its tracks. Killing kids makes for a happy, healthy society, and I wouldn't have it any other way," the President starts.

"MR. PRESIDENT!" a reporter calls, "RUMOR HAS IT THE HUNGRY GAMES ARE CANCELLED THIS YEAR DUE TO LACK OF INTEREST, AND THE KIDS ARE TO BE PUT ON THIS SEASON'S _BACHELORETTE_! IS THIS TRUE?!" President Snow looks appalled. Well, as much as he can through the Botox.

"Absolutely not! That's just sick. Forcing minors to date under the age of consent? I don't want to ever meet the person who started that rumor," President Snow cries. Damn it, all the pointless drama might have even been better to be in than the Hungry Games. Another reporter waves their notebook.

"PRESIDENT SNOW! Is it true that you'd kill for a donut right now?"

"Too late," President Snow answers, munching a glazed donut. I spot a random kid lying on the ground, cold fingers still clenched around a phantom donut.

"MR. PRESIDENT! Is it true that you hate children?"

"WHAT?! I _LOVE _CHILDREN! Who the hell started that rumor?! The same psycho who started the _Bachelorette _one?!" President Snow looks downright pissed now.

"Um… let's move on!" Effin' Trilogy says brightly, saving the reporters from President Snow's wrath.

"Yes, draw the tributes for the Hungry Games," President Snow instructs. He steps down from the podium. Effin' reaches a manicured hand into the bowl.

"Ladies first!" she crows. The crowd is instantly silent, except for a few people who are betting on who the tribute will be. And some people who call out random people's names to see if they'll think they're being called.

When we finally hear the name, it's not me. Or Grace. Or anyone I actually care about.

No, it's Prim and Proper Neverclean.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I scream, hearing a faint ringing in my ears. Prim instantly grins and I realize she's so sad I'll be in the Hungry Games that she's delirious.

Effin' looks at me in surprise and shrugs.

"We've never had a volunteer before… well this is a bit awkward… well get on up here, Katpiss Neverclean! You're now the new tribute who will probably die a grisly death. May the odds be ever in your favor that you manage to either make it out alive with multiple mental health issues or die in some cool way, like famous tributes before you," Effin' calls, gesturing to me to come on stage. I take a few steps back and Prim frowns.

"On second thought, can we just forget that ever happened? I think Prim is really the best contender here. I mean, she's 12! I'm 16! I've experienced more sorrows in my life. If she goes, we'll be even! I-"

"Nonsense! Come on up, Kantkiss! Don't be shy!" Effin' literally pulls me off the ground and onstage. She's probably had proper nutrients her whole life.

"Actually," I cough as Prim skips off happily, "it's Katpiss."

"Bratniss?"

"Kat… piss," I say it slowly, "it's really not that hard, you go it right before…"

"Er… Bathnips?"

"KAT… PISS."

Rattrips?" Effin' replies.

"KATPISS. IT'S FREAKING KATPISS."

"Katpee?"

Close enough, at least you got the K," I give in. Effin' shakes her head.

"Anyway, let's give Fratless a round of applause here for being so very brave! Or, more likely, for being very stupid," Effin' chirps, giving a little clap of her own.

Then something unexpected happens. The citizens of District 12, without making a single noise, all lift their middle fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

"Stop doing that!" Effin' screeches, her wig sliding completely off. The crowd stares blankly at her. "You know what?! We are going to censor all of your middle fingers!" The crowd groans and finally settles for shaking their fists at the camera instead.

"And now, the boy tribute will be selected!" she continues calmly. Everyone simply blinks at her, except for Hamsnitch, who yells, "GET SOME, EFFIN'! No, really, get me a couple beers."

Effin' ignores him and reaches into the second bowl for boy tributes. I pray for it to be Grace so I at least have someone to talk to while we're fighting to the death.

"PITA MALARKEY!" Effin' cries, waving the slip of paper. Oh, no. Anyone but Pita Malarkey. I can't stand owing people things. God, I hate when people save my life!

See, after my father died, my mother of course was too lazy and kept leaking this foreign wet substance from her eyes. Clearly, she was beyond help, but Prim and I needed food and money. I started working as a tea tester, but I was terrible at it. My supervisor told me one day that I could take tea and those little sandwiches home to eat if I got the "good or bad" tea test right. Pita came out of the tree he was stalking me from and studied the tea with his binoculars. He then informed me of what I was supposed to say for each one.

He told me, "There, Katpiss. I only help starving people if I'm in love with them. It's this little quirk I have."

I was able to take the food home, and we survived long enough until I met Grace and learned to hunt. Pita saved my life. To me, he'll forever be the Boy who Fed.

* * *

Then we are taken into custody. The Piecekeepers transport us in cages to the Justice Building to make sure we don't escape. The room we are delivered to will be where we say our final goodbyes.

I sit on a couch, waiting for my visitors. Surely I'll have a whole fleet of them, heartsick at my absence.

Prim and my mother come in the room, and I leap up, encouraged. I know what they'll say. They'll want me to be brave and try to survive for them. They'll tell me how horrible it is I have to endure this, but how amazing and honorable I was for volunteering.

"If you die, make sure it's entertaining," my mother tells me, putting on a new shirt she bought that says, "Keep Calm and Die Young". Then they abruptly leave.

"I love y-" I call as the door slams shut. My next guest is unexpected; Mr. Malarkey, Pita's father. I wonder why he's not visiting Pita.

"Here's some cookies, freshly baked by Mrs. Malarkey," he hands me a warm batch of cookies and whispers, "You can gain Pita's trust by pretending to love him, and stab him later. It's best that way." Huh. How nice of Mr. Malarkey! I love cookies! He's way nicer than Mrs. Malarkey, who I'm pretty hates me.

My last guest is Grace, who greets me with a warm, sexual tension-charged hug.

"Listen, just remember your father's advice and you'll be fine," he tells me. What was my father's advice for the Hungry Games? "Don't get picked, Katpiss." Wait, that's not helpful!

"GRACE!" I yell, but he's already left. Effin' and Hamsnitch appear, dragging me to the train station.

"That was quick," I say, a bit on edge. I bite a cookie to take my mind off it. It tastes bitter, though, so I spit it out.

"You barely had any visitors," Effin' explains, "and my shoe is melting, thanks to you." I look down to see that the cookie landed on her shoe. Huh. Maybe it's my spit, which could be a good tool in the arena.

Once we board the train, I spot Pita. He's weeping and drying his tears with bags of flour.

"Where did it all go wrong?" he laments, "somehow all my problems started when I got picked for the Hungry Games!" I pat him on the back a bit to comfort him, and my hand turns white with flour.

In school, they say the Capitol is really… they say it's really… uh… well, they… I'm not entirely sure because I never pay attention. So if you wanted to know how the apocalypse happened and Pan 'Em really got started, well… you're on your own there.

The train car is fancier than anything I've ever seen. I recognize the silk seats as the fabric covering the walls on our home.

The food is what really captures my attention, though. The decadent trays display- whatever, I'm hungry. I shovel food into my mouth until I have no room for air. Pita selects all the bread and shoves it into his mouth.

"Ugh, you two have horrific manners," Effin' sneers, "especially you, Fatfest." I shrug. If the sponsors saw me, the rich people who can buy gifts for tributes to be delivered in the Hungry Games, they would be horrified, too. A sponsored gift can be the difference between life and death. But if they can't accept me for who I really am, then do I _really _want them to help me?

Then Hamsnitch stumbles drunkenly in, further aggravating Effin' Trilogy's mood. Hamsnitch is our mentor, the one who advises us, talks with the sponsors, and basically is our lifeline. In other words, we're screwed.

"EFFIN'! HEY, KATPISS, PITA!" Hamsnitch yells, slurring his words a little.

"Chill, Hamsnitch!" Pita says. Hamsnitch shakes his head vigorously.

"I CANNOT CHILL, PITA. Although I wouldn't object to you getting me a cold beer, chilled to -50 degrees. Thanks!" Hamsnitch replies. I try to refrain from slapping Hamsnitch as Pita fetches the beer.

"Got any advice for us?!" I ask urgently. Hamsnitch sips his beer and thinks for a minute.

"Don't die," he chuckles.

"THAT'S NOT HELPFUL. My father already gave me that advice!" I tell him.

"Well, then here's a real tip- there's this great pub in the heart of the Capitol. You're gonna wanna write this down. It's called, Crack This, and the walls are decorated to look like District 12. It's a real laugh." I wonder why he's telling underage kids this, but when I look at Pita, he's writing it down. "Oh, and you should probably also listen to your stylists. And of course, you should try not to die either. Even if you've heard it before, that's probably the most important part of the Games," Hamsnitch finishes. Pita hurriedly writes everything down on his pad of paper.

I'm starting to feel a little hungry again, so I go back to the cookies. I suddenly realize that they're oatmeal raisin. I thought they were chocolate chip! In a rage, I hurl all the cookies out of the train. Wherever they land, a part of the ground melts.

The train begins to slow down, and we see the Capitol in its full glory for the first time. I nearly go blind at how neon everything is. We spot the pub, and then the train stops and we see the Styling Center.

We're finally here.


	3. Chapter 3

"Strip for me," says Venus. I ponder the creepiness of this sentence but decide that Hamsnitch was right, I should listen to my stylists. Flavor inspects me and they get right on waxing my leg hair, arm hair, and my mustache and beard. Octagon then dyes my eyebrow hair purple and the hair on my head orange. I glance at her and realize she has the exact same style, only her eyebrows are in the shape of octagons.

"You finally look like a human being," Venus compliments me, "now just wait for you stylist, Cinnabon." I sit around for quite some time.

When I finally see Cinnabon for the first time, I immediately realize that he is much better than the Capitol people, even if he is one of them.

"Um… hi," he glances at his hand, "you must be Sara." I shake my head.

"No, no, I'm Katpiss." I must say, that's the strangest way anyone has messed up my name.

"Oh, wait, Sara was the tribute last year… she had such a normal name and died in such a nondescript way I didn't even remember she was gone! Oh, now I remember, we had the most delectable mini hotdogs at her funeral… when you die, make sure they serve those. Just delightful… ahem, anyway… how's it going?"

"Um… well, considering what you just told me-"

"You must think we're despicable," he interrupts me, "I mean, I'm just a stylist who's enabling the Hungry Games by providing my services. I'm doing my part to help, though. I think. I'm not poor-people phobic, OK? I have poor friends!" I instantly like Cinnabon. And I hope he gives me a good costume. All the other District 12 tributes are usually dresses like Mrs. Potts. I hope for something a bit more original.

"So what's my costume?" I ask. Cinnabon freezes.

"Er… well… ah…" he checks his calendar and groans. "I… have something planned… just let me…" he grabs a random huge shirt, "here's your dress!" The "dress" has a campfire design on it with marshmallows roasting. I look at Cinnabon's uneasy expression and stare at my costume.

"I… I… I love it! Cinnabon, how are you so genius at designing?!" I cry, stroking the marshmallows lovingly. I can't quite figure out what this has to do with tea, but it doesn't matter.

When we get to the stadium for the Opening Ceremony, I finally see Pita. He's dressed in a sleek, completely black outfit, aside from the real-looking flames shooting up from his back. I feel terrible for him, getting such a shoddy stylist. Pita's outfit looks awful.

"What are you supposed to be?!" I ask Pita, who ignores me in favor of chewing a piece of sourdough.

I watch as the other districts are presented in their chariots. Massive horses pull each chariot respectively. The first tributes, from District 1, are known as the compliments district. Most people call them kiss-asses. They're responsible for complimenting the Capitol a certain amount of times a year so the Capitol's massive ego doesn't deflate. Naturally, they are one of the Career districts, districts who are well-fed and prepared for the Hungry Games. The Careers usually win the Hungry Games, going on to star in hit TV shows, such as Survivor, which is that show where contestants are put defenseless in the woods and the last one to stay alive wins. You can tell if someone is a Career tribute by the intense amount of evil vibes coming off of them. They also have glowing red eyes from radiation.

District 2 is next. They're the dye district, which is often confusing. One time, there was a fire in one of their work buildings, and they all screamed, "Help! We're gonna die!" Of course, the firefighters realized the workers meant, "we're gonna dye!", and everyone laughed at that stupid mistake as the building burned down.

Additionally, the food district are dressed as stomachs, which sounds weird, but looks brilliant. The mystery district is nowhere to be found, though.

Finally, it is our turn. Pita clenches my hand and I pull back, slightly grossed out at the sweatiness.

"Katpiss, we are both terrified. I think it best if we hold hands, snuggle a bit and kiss to be less alone and afraid." I shrug and grab his hand. It seems legit.

"AND HERE WE HAVE- KATPISS NEVERCLEAN, THE GIRL ON FIRE! AND PITA MALARKEY, THE- what the everloving hell are you supposed to be?!" Caesar announces. I release Pita's hand as the crowd screams about what a poser he is.

"NOOO! Your hand is my lifeline- ahem, I mean, I'm really nervous," Pita protests. He grabs my hand again and I shudder.

At least my costume was a smashing success.


	4. Chapter 4

And now it is time for President Snow to give yet another long speech. This is generally when he explains how the apocalypse happened and how we came to where we are right now, killing children for sport. Usually, I never listen, but this year President Snow goes off script.

"Everyone," he starts, gesturing toward the crowd with his hand, "there exists, in a galaxy far, far, away, or not so far, really, District 13. We are planning an uprising. Also, President Snow is stupid and is likely to read this speech blindly- hey, wait a minute!" President Snow glances at the gaping crowd and whispers to someone. "What should I tell them? They can't ever know! The cleansing of children must take place! I hate- what do you mean I'm still on speaker? Well, press the red button, idiot!" President Snow takes a deep breath or five and turns back to everyone.

"Ahem," he starts again, "all of that was a clever joke Caesar wrote. Um… on with the Games! I hope you enjoy dying in exciting ways! May the odds be ever in your favor that you manage to either make it out alive with multiple mental health issues or die in some cool way, like famous tributes before you!" And with that, the ceremony is over.

I start clapping enthusiastically but for some reason, none of the other tributes join in. What buzzkills. It's almost like they don't even want to be here!

With the ceremony being over, we head back to the apartment. We promised Effin' we'd be there for dinner, and if we don't, I'm scared she'll make us walk in high heels.

As we ride the elevator to get to our apartment level, I recall earlier Hungry Games. The year when the arena was a big funeral home was one of the most heart-warming. Before kids got murdered, they could pick their own coffins, and they even had funerals. Of course, the kids who actually stopped to mourn for someone were killed right away, but it's the thought that counts.

When we finally get to our apartment, Cinnabon and Portion are there, too! I cheer up at the thought of what Cinnabon's next design will be.

"Well, thanks again for Kantkiss's amazing dress," Effin' compliments Cinnabon. Then she glares at Portion.

"What?!" she looks up from her plate and protests. Effin' sighs.

"Thanks for sabotaging what little advantage we had with Pita's camouflage… uh… skills…" Effin' snaps, then drops her voice to a whisper, "Pita's self-esteem is a bit fragile."

"I heard that!" Pita cries, "er… what did you say?"

I can't even concentrate on their conversation because the food laid before us is beyond belief. I can't even describe it in excruciating detail.

"So, let's discuss strategy," Hamsnitch abruptly suggests.

"Right," Effin' nods, "kids, either become a serial killer or die. It's that simple. Don't get sad about it, though. You'll never go to jail for it! If there's someone you can't stand in the arena, you can literally just kill them." She's got a point there…

"I'll use my camouflage!" Pita declares, ignoring Effin's speech.

"Brilliant, Pita," Effin' says, shooting an exasperated look at the stylists and Hamsnitch. Pita smirks.

"I have my bow and arrows!" I pipe up. Cinnabon considers this.

"Perhaps I could work into your costume… you can be a brave dead squirrel who got an arrow stuck straight through the eye! Or the heart! Wait, maybe I'm not doing this right…"

Wait, you're supposed to kill the animals you're hunting? How could Grace let me eat that?! Immediately, I resolve to quit eating meat. Right after I eat the rest of this chicken, pork, and bacon sandwich.

"Sounds amazing, Cinnabon," Effin' congratulates him, "what would you make her to wear, Portion? An archer costume?" Portion lowers her head, properly ashamed.

A Mute walks in, carrying our tea. I gasp a little out loud because I think I recognize her. Perhaps she was the maid who cleaned our condo? If so, I never got a chance to yell at her for not being very thorough.

But no, I realize where I know her from now.

"Do you know the Mute, Traphiss?!" Effin' screeches. I mumble, "Katpiss" under my breath.

"Uhh-" I start, but Pita saves me from having to answer.

"She couldn't possibly know her, I mean why would she know her? There's no way. If anyone knows her, it's me, except, you know, I don't know her. Anyway, how could anyone even recognize that Mute, her face is totally forgettable, just like Daisy Butterfield, just like that name, too. Ugh, anyway no one even knows that Mute! She doesn't even go here! Goddamn!" Pita declares eloquently. Effin' nods.

"Thank god. If you had recognized her, I might've had to make you a Mute this very second," Effin' chuckles a bit, "ah, fond memories." I pale a bit while Pita chokes a little on his bread.

But why would Pita protect me? This is one of Pita's attempts to viciously murder me, isn't it?! Being a Mute to him is too good for me. He's trying to make me think he's nice when he's not really nice because he can't be nice because if you do nice things for the sole purpose of making people think you're nice then you're probably not actually nice unless you're nice so people think you're nice because you are, in fact, nice. Well, that was thoroughly confusing, which must mean Pita is still trying to murder me in my sleep, preferably in a slow, torturous way.

There's no way he could be a genuinely nice guy. Just like the Careers are always the evil ones, sure enough, Pita will always be a bloodthirsty murderer at heart.

"Training is tomorrow, guys," Hamsnitch interrupts my reverie, "so don't get yourselves killed out there!" He laughs heartily until he cries, beer spilling out his eyes in the place of tears. "Oh, I crack myself up. HAHAHA, get it, Crack? Like District 12?!"

"Hamsnitch! Stop! You'll frighten them!" Cinnabon protests. I grin at him. Cinnabon is a true friend. "It's insensitive. They don't do mercy killings anymore!"


End file.
